


Last Will And Testament

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-25
Updated: 2006-02-25
Packaged: 2018-08-15 17:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8065231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: Saying goodbye is not enough. Season 1 spoilers. (08/10/2003)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: Spoilers, 1.01-1.02 "Broken Bow," 1.08 "Breaking The Ice," 1.16 "Shuttlepod One."  
  
Blame this one on Mara. Her "In the Event of my Death" is what prompted this. Denotes ~thoughts~  


* * *

The room was typical of a 20th-century law officeâ€”all polished woods and burnished brass. The desk at the far end of the room, facing the entrance, was teak and probably two hundred years old.

There were a dozen chairs, all looking equally antique, facing the desk. Only a handful of them were occupied.

Through a second, smaller door to the right of the desk, a short, balding man entered. The people occupying the chairs, stood until he sat behind the desk, then sat back down.

"Good morning. I am Admiral Alton Fisk, Chief Legal Officer for Starfleet.

"We are here for the reading of the will of Commodore Charles Bartholomew Tucker III, known to his friends and colleagues, as 'Trip'."

* * *

Vice-Admiral Jonathan Archer stood in the ready room of the newly upgraded U.S.S. Enterprise. As the starship orbited the planet Daemon, he gazed out the large, oval port.

~I miss the old, rectangular ports. I guess these are supposed to be esthetically more pleasing. I don't think so.~

The slight hiss of the opening door called his attention to the solid form of his former Chief Engineer, Commodore Charles Tucker III.

"Hey, Trip. Good to se you."

"You, too, Jon."

The men shook hands and smiled.

"So, what's the scoop, Jon? Why are we here? Admiral T'Pon wouldn't say."

"I know. Our first Vulcan admiral isn't exactly a chatterbox. All she told me was that I needed to pick a team of six for an important diplomatic mission."

"Diplomacy? Jon, I'm an engineerâ€”not a diplomat! I suck at that stuff!"

"Tell that to all your ex-wives, Trip. If I recall correctly, not one of them is on bad terms with you!" Archer laughed and clapped Tucker on the shoulder. "Any man who can accomplish that..."

Tucker joined in the laughter.

"Okay, I'll give you that," he replied. "So, who else is on the team?"

The doors hissed again.

Lieutenant-Commander Hoshi Sato and Commander Malcolm Reed entered the room.

"But that's just what I mean," said Sato. "Now that the universal translator is working so well, there's no need for a linguistics expert on this mission."

"That's foolishness, Hoshi, and you know it! The translator still hasn't got the capability for picking up on body language and scent. If the Daemons should have more than the usual sonic language components, we'll need you. Besides, as much as I hate to admit it, there's no one on the team that can out shoot you."

"Well, the new phasers _are_ much easier to control."

The two came to a halt before Archer and Tucker.

"Hoshi. Malcolm. Good to see you," said Archer. "Have either of you seen T'Pol, or Travis?"

"No, sir," replied Reed, "but Dr. Phlox arrived a few minutes ago."

"Excellent. When they arrive, we'll be set."

Archer turned back to Sato.

"And what's this I hear about you winning the Starfleet Marksmanship Competition, this year? You always hated weapons!"

"Well, Jon, after you vanished into thin air while Silik was threatening Enterprise, I realized that, whether I liked it or not, it might be a good idea to be handy with a phase pistol.

"I spent every moment I could, practicing. It wasn't until these new phasers were developed that I got to feeling comfortable with the idea, but I discovered I was a very competitive person, and the rest is history."

"Don't let her fool you, sir," noted Reed. "She still hates weapons. That's why she's so good with themâ€”the better she gets, the less likely she is to have to use them."

Again, the doors hissedâ€”this time admitting Dr. Phlox, Lieutenant-Commander Travis Mayweather and Vice-Admiral T'Pol.

In his unique way, Phlox bustled through the room, greeting everyone, followed closely by the equally enthusiastic Mayweather.

Once the two perpetual motion machines had greeted everyone and exchanged bits of gossip and news, Tucker stepped out of the phalanx of friends and moved to T'Pol, who had stood, waiting, by the doors.

"T'Pol," he said, softly. "Been awhile. Good to see you again." He smiled at herâ€”a smile of such genuine warmth that it was plain to see that he still cared for her a very great deal.

"Indeed, Charles. It is."

T'Pol's skin darkened almost imperceptibly, as she raised one eyebrow a fraction.

Suddenly, a swirl of light formed between them.

A being with reddish skin and black horns, materialized between them. One clawed hand rose and a burst of energy struck Tucker full in the chest.

As his body winked out of existence, Reed and Sato drew their phasers and fired.

Both shots struck the figure just before another swirl of light dematerialized him.

* * *

Admiral Fisk pulled open a desk drawer and withdrew an envelope.

"This is the last will and testament of Commodore Charles Bartholomew Tucker III. It is a holograph willâ€”which is to say a handwritten will. Commodore Tucker was a unique individual, and the manner in which he conducted his legal affairs was equally unique.

"I have two matters to bring before you, and then we will proceed with the reading.

"First, the Daemon assassin has been apprehended. He will not be in any condition to stand trial for some time. Both Commander Reed and Lt.-Commander Sato scored direct hits before he was transported to his base. It's a miracle that he survived and will eventually be able to stand trial.

"As one of Trip's colleagues and, hopefully, friends, I am breaking with protocol long enough to say that I wish the bastard had died.

"Second, Daemon's application for membership in the Federation has been ratified, so Commodore Tucker's death was not meaningless.

Now, in accordance with Commodore Tucker's instructions, I am calling on Vice-Admiral T'Pol to come forward and conduct the reading of his last will and testament. Further, Admiral, you have been named executor of the will."

The silence in the room changed from respectful, to stunned.

Everyone, including T'Pol, had expected that the will would be read by Tucker's attorney, and that Archer would be the executor.

Slowly T'Pol rose to her feet. "Far be from me to question the intention of Commodore Tucker, sir, but are you absolutely certain that this is what he desired?"

"Indeed, Admiral, I amâ€”and it is."

With a few deliberate steps, T'Pol reached Fisk's desk.

He handed her the envelope and a small piece of paper.

She paused a moment, while Fisk moved to take her previous chair.

"Please sit, Admiral. This is not a task to be undertaken on one's feet."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, as she glanced at the piece of paper.

It read: 'In the event of my death, it is my express wish that Commodore T'Pol, of Vulcan, should be named executor of my will.

Further, if she will, I wish for her to conduct the actual reading.'

It was signed, 'Lieutenant-Commodore Charles Bartholomew Tucker III'.

Despite the years since she'd last seen him, T'Pol felt an uncharacteristic generation of fluid in her eyes. A few rapid blinks of her secondary eyelid cleared her vision.

She carefully opened the envelope.

* * *

The Captain's dining room. Two days into their first assignment.

Captain Archer had suggested that sometimes it was easier to pick something up with her fingers. Her response, in reflex, was to state, firmly, that Vulcans did not touch their food with their hands.

With the gentle sarcasm that would become both the perennial thorn in her side _and_ her greatest reassurance during their five-year mission, Tucker had cracked: "Can't wait 'til you tackle the spareribs..."

* * *

It had been her first encounter with human humor, but far from the lastâ€”and the greatest source of that humor had been Charles Bartholomew Tucker III.

Now, hard on the heels of her uncharacteristic tearing up, T'Pol felt an equally uncharacteristic desire to laugh. Tucker had been, finally, the one member of the Enterprise crew to break through her Vulcan reserve.

He had helped her deal with an arranged marriage she had not wanted, yet had not felt right in avoiding. He had introduced her to the pleasures of pecan pie (and the discomfort of the ensuing cavity).

When he had gotten more emotional, she had become more logical.

Finally, after many gaffes on both sides, they realized that they had, in spite of his distrust of Vulcans and her unease among humans, developed an affection for each otherâ€”a phrase that had come to haunt her in the years after the completion of the Enterprise's first five-year mission.

In the half-dozen nanoseconds it took for T'Pol's mind to process all that, she lifted her eyes to view the assembly of Tucker's closest friends and colleagues.

~Jonathan Archer, Tucker's closest human friend; Travis Mayweather, the only other crew member whose enthusiasm could beat Tucker's; Phlox, Tucker's favourite physician, right up until his death; Hoshi Sato, shy and uncertain in the beginningâ€”beneficiary of Tucker's enthusiasm and unconventional wisdom; Malcolm Reed, oil to Tucker's waterâ€”the most unlikely friendship to develop on the Enterprise.

~The second most unlikely friendship,~ she amended, not allowing another faint blush to get started.

Despite the emotions that struggled to get past her discipline, T'Pol's steady, graceful fingers withdrew the contents of the envelopeâ€”several pieces of ivory-colored paper, wrapped around a second envelopeâ€”an envelope which had her name inscribed on its face.

She placed the second envelope on the desk before her, and began to read:

"I, Charles Bartholomew Tucker III, being of sound body and mind, do hereby declare this to be my last will and testament.

To my ex-wives, Natalie, Serena and Allison, I leave photo albums that contain the best memories of our times together. I doubt I have anything else that you'd want, other than my wish that you have long and happy lives.

To Travis Mayweather, I leave my set of working models of the prototypes for the first Starfleet Warp Six Starship and the first Warp Five Shuttle, along with the original specs sheets for the engineering upgrades I designed while we were on Risa, the last time.

To Hoshi Sato, I leave the first completely successful Universal Translator that you were able to develop. I know you're not a pack rat like me, Hoshi, but I don't believe that you would want this important piece of our interstellar history to vanish without a trace, so I put it back together after that unfortunate episode on the Suliban homeworld.

To Malcolm Reed, I leave two cases of the finest sippin' whiskey ever madeâ€”just in case the galaxy gets the giggles again. You turned out to be one of the greatest friends a guy could haveâ€”just don't waste the booze at my wakeâ€”that's been provided for.

To Doctor Phlox, I have nothing that would interest you, professionally, but I'd bet my bottom dollar that your love of Earth food is as intense as it ever was. To that end, I leave my collection of my grandmother's recipes. I'd wager that you'll love the sweet potato pie.

To Jonathan Archer, my best friend and commanding officer, I leave my personal journals. Hopefully, you can make enough sense out of them to make my small contribution to our first mission seem important.

Seriously, Jon, I want you to know that there's no one I'd rather serve with, anywhere in the galaxy. It's been an honor."

T'Pol finished, refolded the sheets and placed them neatly back into their envelope.

Archer stood, and looking her directly in the eye, asked, "Is there a reason he didn't mention you? I mean, he asked you to read and execute the will..."

"Direct as ever, Admiral," replied T'Pol.

"It's just that I know you and Trip became close and this just doesn't feel right, somehow."

T'Pol picked up her envelope from the desk and showed it to Archer.

"Ah...I see. Good for Trip."

After a brief discussion with Admiral Fisk, T'Pol received a small briefcase containing directions, keys and whatever else she would need to complete the execution of the will.

Then, Trip's six friends left the office, stopping briefly to chat about how life was treating them, and to re-avow their friendship.

Finally, they went their separate ways.

T'Pol returned to her apartment with the briefcase and her envelope.

The apartment wasn't much larger than her quarters had been on the Enterprise. She was not given to decoration, or collecting, so a simple, one-room apartment was more than sufficient for her needs.

"Lights," she said as she entered. The lights brightened to about the equivalent of Vulcan noon. T'Pol removed her boots and flexed her toes. Then she sat on her meditation mat, without lighting the candles. There would be time for meditation afterward.

She opened her envelope. It contained several sheets of the same ivory-colored paper and yet another envelope. She placed the sealed envelope on top of the opened one and began to read Trip's letter:

"Hi, Darlin',"

"If you're reading this, I'm dead.

I know that this won't mean that much to you, but it's like my grandma used to say, 'Some days you eat the bear, and some days the bear eats you'. I guess I ran into a real hungry bear.

Since I'm dead and gone, I'll be blunt:

We didn't really get along all that well, T'Pol. But that doesn't mean we didn't love each other.

Yeah, I said 'love'. We did, after all. And it wasn't the way I expected things to be between usâ€”especially after the first few weeks of the mission.

I think I realized I was in love with you when you asked my advice in the matter of your arranged marriage. I don't think you realized you were in love me until after the second piece of pecan pieâ€”the one you smuggled back to your quarters after you made the decision to stay aboard the Enterprise.

You didn't know that I knew about that, did you?

I still think that we should have told everyone about our relationship, but understand why we didn't. It didn't have anything to do with fraternizationâ€”we both know that _that_ regulation was a joke. It was rescinded before we visited Risa the second time.

We might have been a force for greatly improved Human/Vulcan relations, but most likely notâ€”and you'd have been transferred elsewhere. It simply wasn't the right time for a Human/Vulcan relationship. I expect it'll be a few decades before one will be accepted by both species.

Still, I consider it the highest honor, and the greatest good luck of my life, to have been one for whom you could 'develop an affection'.

When circumstances dictated that we go our separate ways, it hurt like nothing has ever hurt before.

As you know, a Starfleet officer doesn't really amass a lot of stuff, and what stuff I've got has been bequeathed to my closest friendsâ€”next to you.

I'm guessing that you're tired of finding more envelopes, but there's just the one left. It contains the four things I have left to give and I'm leaving them to you.

I love you, T'Pol. I never stopped loving youâ€”I guess that's why my marriages didn't last. I could never get you out of my heart. I remain eternally amazed that my ex-wives never seemed to hold that against me.

I expect that, by now, these words will not mean what they once might have, but I had to say them. I hope that you don't mind, too terribly.

I love you, T'Pol.

Forever yours,

Trip."

* * *

The sound of her communicator pulled T'Pol out of deep meditation.

"T'Pol."

"Admiral, you're running late for your meeting with Admirals Archer and Fisk."

"I am on my way. T'Pol out."

In minutes, she sped through a shower and donned her uniform.

Then, using her authority as member of the admiralty, she ordered a transporter to get teleport her to her office.

Archer and Fisk were sitting in front of her desk.

"My apologies, Admirals. I can offer no excuse."

Fisk turned to Archer and nodded.

"T'Pol, the only reason we're here is because we didn't want to upset your schedule. I know that the last week has been trying for all of us.

"Heck, I almost stayed in bed today, myself!"

"Thank you, Admiral Archer," replied T'Pol. "But I am fine, now."

"You're sure...?"

"Indeed."

"Then," said Fisk, "I guess we should get down to business."

"You arranged this meeting, T'Pol," said Archer. "So, what's on your mind?"

T'Pol looked at her friend and former commanding officer. Then she looked at Fisk. Finally she took a deep breath.

"I am tendering my resignation from Starfleet, effective immediately."

Both men's jaws dropped.

"But...but...T'Pol..." stammered Fisk, not believing what his ears had just heard.

"I don't understand, T'Pol," added the only slightly less surprised Archer.

"It is simple, Jon," she replied, further surprising Archer. "I believe that my time with Starfleet was beneficial, both to Human/Vulcan relations, and to me personally.

"I can only say that now is the logical time for me to leave."

"But you're one of the finest minds in Starfleet!" said Fisk. "We need you as much as we ever have."

"Sir, I was ordered to become a part of the Enterprise crew because the Vulcan High Command did not think you were worthy to become a star-faring species. Indeed, I shared their thinking, at the time.

"I remained a member of the Vulcan Diplomatic Corps for the entirety of the Enterprise's first five-year mission, during which, I broke with enough Vulcan traditions to ensure that returning home would bring disgrace to my family.

"That is why I joined Starfleet, officially, at the end of our five-year tour of duty.

"Since then, Human/Vulcan relations have become almost cordial. We have formed the Federation of Planets. And, from what I am told, I am something of a source of pride to my family.

"I have no reason to stay on, nor do I have the desire any longer.

"It _is_ the logical thing to do."

Archer and Fisk (but mostly Archer) tried, for an hour, to persuade her to rescind her resignation, but T'Pol stood firm.

Finally, they gave up and accepted the situation.

T'Pol shook hands with both of them and resisted a sudden urge to hug Archer. Then, no longer requiring haste, she walked the five miles to her apartment.

From her desk, she made a few calls, and then she packed her belongings into two small bags and left, ordering the lights off behind herâ€”the contents of Trip's last envelope coming into her mind like one of his sly smiles.

"The key is for my family home. If you ever need a place to stay, for whatever reason, you can stay thereâ€”I've had it deeded over to you.

The first data chip is a collection of every photo ever taken by a member of the first crew of the Enterpriseâ€”it's amazing how many of them feature you!

The second data chip is every photo I ever took of you.

I hope you like the card."

T'Pol pulled the card out of one of the bags and looked at it again.

The merest hint of the possibility of the speculation of a smile brushed her lips.

"Great-Grandma's Recipe for Pecan Pie"


End file.
